So 


SONNETS 

AND    SONGS 


SONNETS 


AND    SONGS 


BY 

HELEN    HAY    WHITNEY 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 
HARPER    &   BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

MCMV 


Copyright,  1905,  by  HAKPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  August,  1905. 


TO 

P.   W. 


262642 


Contents 


SONNETS 

PAGE 

Ave  atque  Vale 3 

'*  Chaque  baiser  vaut  an  roman  ".......  4 

As  a  Pale  Child 5 

Flower  of  the  dove      .     . 6 

Too  Late 7 

The  Supreme  Sacrifice 8 

Malua 9 

Love's  Legacy JO 

How  we  would  Live! 11 

In  Extremis 12 

The  Forgiveness 13 

With  Music »     .  14 

Alpha  and  Omega 15 

Flowers  of  Ice 16 

Love  and  Death  ...»•». 17 

The  Message 18 

Tempest  and  Calm 19 

[vii] 


Contents 


PAGE 


After  Rain 20 

Not  through  this  Door 2J 

Pot-Pourri 22 

Eadem  Semper 23 

To  a  Woman 24 

Aspiration — I 25 

Aspiration— II 26 

The  Gypsy  Blood 27 

Not  Dead  but  Sleeping 28 

The  Last  Gift 29 

Amor  Mysticus 30 

The  Pattern  of  the  Earth 3J 

Disguised 32 

SONGS 

On  the  White  Road 35 

The  Wanderer 36 

False 37 

A  Song  of  the  Oregon  Trail 38 

The  Apple-Tree 39 

Silver  and  Rose 40 

To-Morrow        ...*. 41 

The  Greater  Joy 42 

[  viii  ] 


Contents 

PAGE 

The  Rose-Colored  Camelia-Tree       . 43 

Good-Bye  Sorrow 44 

In  Harbor 45 

Rosa  Mtmdi 46 

The  Ribbon 47 

The  Aster 48 

Heart  and  Hand 49 

The  Golden  Fruit 50 

To  a  Moth 52 

"Winter  Song 53 

Youth 54 

Persephone 55 

Etoiles  d'Enfer 57 

Enough  of  Singing 58 

Truth 59 

The  Philosopher 60 

Prayers   »     .     .     * 6J 

A  South-Sea  Lover  Scorned  ..,....*.  62 

In  May  , 64 

For  Your  Sake 65 

Lyric  Love . »     •  67 

Be  Still 68 

Butterfly  Words 69 

Music « 70 

fix] 


Contents 

PAGE 

The  Ghost 72 

Fight! 74 

In  Tonga     , 75 

This  was  the  Song 76 

To  E.  D 78 

The  Dance 79 

Vanquished 80 

Tranquillity 81 


SONNETS 


Ave  atque    Vale 

As  a  blown  leaf  across  the  face  of  Time 
Your  name  falls  emptily  upon  my  heart. 
In  this  new  symmetry  you  have  no  part, 

No  lot  in  my  fair  life*     The  stars  still  chime 

Autumn  and  Spring  in  ceaseless  pantomime. 
I  play  with  Beauty,  which  is  kin  to  Art, 
Forgetting  Nature.    Nor  do  pulses  start 

To  hear  your  soul  remembered  in  a  rhyme. 

You  may  not  vex  me  any  more.    The  stark 
Terror  of  life  has  passed,  and  all  the  stress. 
Winds  had  their  will  of  me,  and  now  caress, 
Blown    from    bland    groves    I    know.     Time 

dreams,  and  I, 

As  on  a  mirror,  see  the  days  go  by 
In  nonchalant  procession  to  the  dark. 


[3] 


II 

44 Chaque  baiser  vaut  un  roman." 

If  living  love  and  laughter,  have  forgot 
The  way  the  heart  has  uttered  melody* 
As  sobbing,  plaintive  cadence  of  the  sea 

A  poet's  soul  should  rest,  remembering  not 

The  inland  paths  of  green,  the  flowers,  the  spot 
Where  fairies  ring*     In  hermit  ecstasy 
Music  is  born,  and  gay  or  wofully 

Lovers  of  Poesy  share  her  lonely  lot. 

For  you  and  me,  Beloved,  crowned  with  Spring, 
Catching  Love's  flowers  from  off  the  lap  of  Time, 

What  are  the  songs  my  voice  has  scorned  to  sing  ? 

Ghostly  they  hover  round  my  heart-wise  lips; 
Into  a  kiss  I  fold  my  rose  of  Rhyme, 

Laid  like  a  martyr  on  your  finger-tips. 


[4] 


Ill 

As  a  Pale   Child 

As  a  pale  child,  hemmed  in  by  windy  rain, 
Patiently  turns  to  touch  his  well-known  toys, 
Playing  as  children  play  who  make  no  noise, 

Yet  happy  in  a  way;  then  sighs  again, 

To  watch  the  world  across  the  storm-dim  pane, 
And  sees  with  wistful  eyes  glad  girls  and  boys 
Who  romp  beneath  the  rain's  unlicensed  joys, 

And  feels  wild  longings  sweep  his  gentle  brain. 

So  I,  contented  with  my  flowers  for  stars, 
Stroll  in  my  fair,  walled  garden  happily, 
Knowing  no  gladder  game  till,  shrill  and  sweet, 
I  hear  life's  cry  ring  down  the  silent  street, 

And  press  my  face  against  the  sunlit  bars 
To  watch  the  joyous  spirits  who  are  free* 


[5] 


IV 
Flower  of  the  Clove 

Ah,  Love,  have  pity! — I  am  bat  a  child; 
I  ask  but  light  and  laughter,  and  the  tears 
Darken  the  sunlight  of  my  fairest  years* 

By  love  made  desolate,  by  love  beguiled, 

I  waste  the  Spring.  Love's  harvest  wains  are  piled 
"With  poppies  and  gold  grain — I  glean  but  fears 
Of  empty  hands,  grim  hunger,  and  the  jeers 

Of  happy  wives  whose  loves  are  reconciled. 

But  mine!     Ah,  mine  is  like  a  tattered  leaf 

Upon  a  turbid  stream.     I  have  no  pride, 
No  life,  but  love,  which  is  a  bitter  grief. 
As  a  lost  star  I  wander  down  your  sky. 
Give  me  your  heart.     Open  it  wide — so  wide! 
I  must  have  love  and  laughter,  or  I  die. 


Too  Late 

Upon  your  stone  the  wine  of  my  desire 

Is  spilled.     Your  poppy  lips  have  grown  too  pale 
From  fasting.     Your  white  hands  will  not  avail 

The  cold  eyes  of  your  heart  to  light  the  fire. 

I  did  not  think  my  prayers  could  ever  tire. 
Now,  like  doomed  ships,  they  flutter  without  sail, 
Lost  in  a  calm  which  held  no  rock,  no  gale — 

Now,  when  your  chilly  smile  bids  me  aspire ! 

So,  without  history,  my  soul  is  slain — 

Woman  of  barren  love ;  the  wine  was  red — 

Beautiful  for  your  spending.     Not  again 

"Will  the  bud  blossom  where  the  frost  has  sped. 

Timid,  you  dared  not  hark  when  angels  sang. 

All,  all  is  lost,  without  one  saving  pang. 


[7] 


VI 
The  Supreme  Sacrifice 

Better  than  life,  better  than  sea  and  mornt 

And  all  the  sun-stained  fragments  of  the  day — 
Ah  1  more  than  breeze,  than  purple  clouds  that 
stray 

Across  dim  twilights — I,  the  tempest-torn, 

Fighting  the  stars  for  glory,  who  must  scorn 
Heart-drops  bespread  along  love's  cruel  way 
Like  scattered  petals  on  the  breast  of  May — 

Better  than  life  I  love  you,  I  forlorn. 

Better  than  death — the  sleeping  and  the  peace 

When  warm  within  the  breast  of  brooding  Earth 
My  weary  heart  should  give  its  woes  release, 

The  pitiful  dark  remembering  not  my  loss, 
The  calm,  wise  years  restoring  joy  for  dearth — 
Better  than  death,  my  love,  my  burning  cross. 


[8] 


VII 
Malua 

Out  of  the  purple  treasuries  of  night 

Came  the  dark  wind  of  evening  silver-starred — 
Stirred  on  his  cheek.     The  forest  keeping  ward 

Breathed  with  a  tremulous  silence,  and  the  bright, 

Bare  moon  crowned  his  adoring  brow  with  light. 
The  exquisite  dream  of  beauty  held  him  hard 
In  a  great  love,  a  forest  love,  unmarred — 

Still  unprofaned — by  human  nature's  sight. 

Guarding  the  temple  gates  of  peace  he  stood, 
Statue  of  bronze  with  pagan  heart  of  stone. 
Sudden,  a  dazzling  glory  lit  the  wood — 

Moon  in  his  soul  that  dimmed  the  moon  above. 
Life  was  revealed,  a  Spring-sweet  maid,  alone — 
Beauty  was  woman,  and  the  woman — Love. 


[9] 


VIII 
Love's  Legacy 

As  one  who  looks  too  long  upon  the  sun 

"When  he  must  turn  to  earth  from  flame-shot 

skies 
Sees  all  else  dark  through  his  bereaved  eyes, 

And  yet  may  watch  the  rainbow  ribbons  run 

Athwart  the  gravity  of  gray  and  dun, 
He  holds  the  darkness  dearer  for  the  prize 
Wherein  his  only  pledge  of  radiance  lies 

When  he  the  vast  magnificence  must  shun* 

So  we  who  play  with  rainbows,  having  seen 
The  sun's  own  face.     We  may  not  hold  the  west, 
Which  burns  against  the  bosom  of  the  night, 
But  in  the  after-glow,  with  eyes  serene, 

We  still  may  find,  dear  heart,  the  sun's  bequest, 
An  echoed  glory  of  our  passionate  light. 

[10] 


IX 
How  we  would  Live! 

How  we  would  live!    We'd  drink  the  years  like 

wine, 

With  all  to-morrows  hid  behind  the  veil, 
Which  is  your  hair;  between  two  lilies  pale — 

Your  slender  hands — my  heart  should  lie  and  shine, 

A  crimson  rose.    We'd  catch  the  wind  and  twine 
The  evening  stars — a  chaplet  musical — 
To  crown  our  folly,  lure  the  nightingale 

To  sing  the  bliss  your  lips  should  teach  to  mine* 

And  if  the  sage,  declaring  life  is  vain, 

Should  frown  upon  the  flower  of  all  our  days 
And  chide  the  sun  that  knows  no  tears  of  rain, 

He  should  not  tease  our  heart  with  cynic  eye — 
The  soul's  vast  altar  stands  beyond  his  gaze 
When  two  have  lived — then  shall  they  fear  to 
die? 


In  Extremis 

Nay,  touch  me  not,  nor  even  with  your  eyes 
Hold  mine,  for  I  would  speak  you,  thus  afar, 
Aloof  and  chill  and  lonely  as  a  star. 

The  hands  that  urge,  the  hungry  heart  that  cries, 

Have  wrapped  my  love  with  love's  elusive  lies; 
The  lips  that  burn  have  laid  a  ruddy  scar 
Against  the  truth  that  stands  without  the  bar, 

And  blinded  faith  with  passion's  mysteries. 

Night  holds  a  single  moon,  day  one  desire — 

Her  golden  sun;  and  life  a  love  supreme, 
Wherein  one  moment  poises,  crowned  with  fire, 

"White  with  the  naked  truth.     Beyond  control, 
'Tis  here,  my  Sun,  in  love's  last  hour  extreme, 
I  hold  aloft  my  bare,  adoring  soul. 


[12] 


XI 
The  Forgiveness 

If  I  might  see  you  dead,  Beloved — dead — 
Your  false  eyes  closed  forever  to  the  light, 
Your  false  smile  stilled  upon  my  aching  sight; 

If  I  might  know  that  nevermore  your  head, 

Cruelly  fair,  could  lie  upon  the  bed 

Of  my  torn  heart;  if  I  beheld  the  night 

Free  from  your  living  thought — ah!  if  I  might, 

Then  could  my  desolate  soul  be  comforted. 

For  this  is  worst  of  all  the  woes  you  gave — 

My  heart  may  not  forgive.    The  tired  years  go 
And  leave  the  great  love  weeping  for  a  grave, 
Scorned  and  unburied,  'neath  the  open  sky. 
I  could  not  love  you  less,  to  see  you  so. 
Loving  you  more,  I  might  forgive — and  die. 


[13] 


XII 
With  Music 

Dear,  did  we  meet  in  some  dim  yesterday? 
I  half  remember  how  the  birds  were  mute 
Among  green  leaves  and  tulip-tinted  fruit. 

And  on  the  grass,  beside  a  stream,  we  lay 

In  early  twilight;  faintly,  far  away, 

Came  lovely  sounds  adrift  from  silver  lute, 
With  answered  echoes  of  an  airy  flute, 

While  Twilight  waited  tiptoe,  fain  to  stay. 

Her  violet  eyes  were  sweet  with  mystery* 

You  looked  in  mine,  the  music  rose  and  fell 
Like  little,  lisping  laughter  of  the  sea ; 

Our  souls  were  barks,  wind-wafted  from  the 

shore — 

Gold  cup,  a  rose,  a  ruby,  who  can  tell? 
Soft — music  ceases — I  recall  no  more* 


[14] 


XIII 
Alpha  and  Omega 

I  died  to-day,  and  yet  upon  my  eyes 
A  glamour  of  the  gorgeous  summer  green 
Still  wavers,  and  my  brain  has  kept  a  keen, 

Sweet  bird-song.     Glad  with  light,  the  summer  skies 

Are  sapphire,  and  a  purple  shadow  lies 
Across  the  hills — no  change  is  on  the  scene 
Since  happy  yesterday.    Ah!  can  it  mean 

The  body  lives  when  stricken  spirit  dies? 

The  blow  has  fallen,  yet  I  can  recall 

The  first  of  days  when  this  dead  heart  drew 

breath— 

A  wondrous  moon-flower  waking  of  a  heart. 
Strange — then  as  now  the  moment  seemed  to  part 

Body  from  soul,  so  like  are  birth  and  death ; 
So  did  I  gain,  and  so  I  lost  my  all. 


[tS.1 


XIV 
Flowers  of  Ice 

The  lights  within  the  ice-floes  are  our  flowers, 

Lily  and  daffodil  and  violet. 

Beneath  these  monstrous  suns  that  never  set 
Tremble  soft  rainbows,  young  as  Earth's  first  hours, 
Ancient  as  Time*    No  balm  of  gentle  showers 

Make  for  their  growth ;  for  them,  gigantic,  met 

The  immemorial  ice  and  sun,  to  get 
Such  blossoms — pledge  of  Beauty's  bravest  powers. 

Violet  and  pale  grass-green,  the  Spring-time  dies 

In  the  soft  South.     To  us,  in  this  grim  world, 
Daring  with  frozen  heart  and  tearless  eyes 

The  North's  white  sanctity,  Fate  idly  throws 
These  alms — a  deathless  Spring  of  ice  enfurled, 
And  over  all,  far  flung,  the  sunset  rose. 


[16] 


XV 
Love  and  Death 

I  can  believe  that  my  Beloved  dies. 
That  all  her  virtue,  all  her  youth  shall  fail, 
And  life,  her  rosy  life,  grow  cold  and  pale, 

To  bloom  again  in  braver  Paradise, 

I  mast  believe  that  death  shall  close  her  eyes, 
And  hold  her  heart  beyond  a  heavy  veil, 
Where  silences  surround  her  spirit  frail 

And  waste  the  form  where  all  my  loving  lies. 

Ah,  God !  but  no.     And  is  my  love  so  weak  ? 

Her  heart  may  pause,  may  falter  and  grow  still, 
But  not  her  laugh,  the  color  in  her  cheek — 

That  may  not  fade;  the  catch  that  lifts  her 

breath, 

Sobbing  against  my  heart.    Essay  your  will — 
These  are  too  dear  to  fill  your  grave,  0  Death! 


[17] 


XVI 
The  Message 

When  one  has  heard  the  message  of  the  Rose, 
For  what  faint  other  calling  shall  he  care  ? 
Dark  breedings  turn  to  find  their  lonely  lair; 

The  vain  world  keeps  her  posturing  and  pose. 

He,  with  his  crimson  secret,  which  bestows 

Heaven  on  his  heart,  to  Heaven  lifts  his  prayer, 
And  knows  all  glory  trembling  through  the  air 

As  on  triumphal  journeying  he  goes. 

So  through  green  woodlands  in  the  twilight  dim, 
Led  by  the  faint,  pale  argent  of  a  star, 

What  though  to  others  it  is  weary  night, 
Nature  holds  out  her  wide,  sweet  heart  to  him; 
And,  leaning  o'er  the  world's  mysterious  bar, 
His  soul  is  great  with  everlasting  light. 


[18] 


XVII 
Tempest  and  Calm 

First  came  the  tempest,  and  the  world  was  torn 
Upon  its  mighty  passion — all  the  deep 
Trembled  before  it*     From  the  haggard  steep 

To  the  sweet  valley  with  its  brooding  corn, 

Its  foaming  lips  in  expletives  of  scorn 
Lashed  into  life  the  world's  eternal  sleep; 
Then,  caught  with  madness,  in  gigantic  leap 

Expired  upon  the  heights  where  it  was  born. 

And  then  a  hush — the  dripping,  tender  rain 
Falls  in  warm  tears.     The  thunder  could  not  wake 
The  grief  that  silence  in  her  soul  has  furled. 
Soft  sighs  the  wind,  the  sea  is  gray  with  pain — 
The  fulness  of  a  heart  too  tense  to  break — 
And  deep,  unuttered  sadness  in  the  world. 


[19] 


XVIII 
After  Rain 

The  country  road  at  lonely  close  of  day 

Rests  for  a  while  from  the  long  stress  of  rain; 

Dripping  and  bowed,  the  green  walls  of  the  lane 
Reflect  no  glistening  light,  no  colors  gay 
Has  dying  Summer  left.    The  sky  is  gray, 

As  though  the  weeping  had  not  eased  the  pain. 

The  Autumn  is  not  yet,  and  all  in  vain 
Seems  Summer's  life — a  blossom  cast  away. 

The  air  is  hushed,  save  in  the  emerald  shade 
The  rain  still  drips  and  stirs  each  fretting  leaf 
To  soft  insistence  of  its  little  grief. 

The  hopeless  calm  all  thought  of  life  denies — 
But  hark!  out  through  the  silence,  unafraid, 
A  robin  ripples  to  the  chilly  skies. 


[20] 


XIX 
Not  through   this  Door 

Not  through  this  door  of  elemental  calm, 
Patient,  wet  woodland,  resting  after  rain, 
Brooding   brown   fields   that   wait   the   sleeping 
grain — 

Not  through  this   door   may  the  wrecked  spirit's 
balm — 

Come  in  and  take  possession.     There's  a  psalm 
Nature  has  crooned  to  weariness  and  pain, 
Easing  the  tumult  of  the  world-worn  brain, 

Sweet,  wholesome  mother  of  the  open  palm. 

But  the  disastrous  heart  cries  out  for  men, 

Strife  where  the  fight  is  reddest.     Verily 
Peace  comes  with  fighting  with  the  strength  of  ten, 
Here  where  the  world  is  young,  with  naught  to 

see* 

But  day  blow  out  across  the  long,  low  sky — 
Peace  means  an  emptiness,  which  rests  to  die. 

3  [21] 


XX 

Pot-Pourri 

All  my  dead  roses !     Now  I  lay  them  here. 
Shrined  in  a  beryl  cup.     The  mysteries 
Of  their  sweet  hatmtings  and  their  witcheries 

Are  not  more  subtle  than  this  jewel  clear, 

Are  not  more  cold  and  dead*     The  winter's  spear 
Has  fallen  on  their  heart,  a  heart  so  wise 
With  lore  of  love.     Dead  roses,  Beauty  lies 

Hid  in  a  perfume  still  supremely  dear. 

Roses  of  love,  time  killed  you  one  by  one, 

Laughed  at  my  pains  as  sad  I  gathered  up 
All  the  fair  petals  banished  from  the  sun. 

Witness  my  triumph — how  the  dead  loves  bless 
Life — from  my  heart,  which  is  their  beryl  cup, 
Crowning  the  winter  of  my  loneliness. 


22] 


XXI 
Eadem  Semper 

How  shall  I  hold  you?    By  a  scimitar 
Of  flashing  wit  suspended  o'er  your  head, 
Oh,  my  Beloved  ?     Or  with  lips  rose-red 

Lure  you  to  Lethe  ?     Shall  I  stand  afar, 

Pale  and  remote  and  distant  as  a  star, 
Challenging  love  ?     Or  by  a  scarlet  thread 
Jealousy's  wiles,  beguile  by  scorn  and  dread? 

Wounding  the  heart  I  love  with  hateful  scar. 

Nay,  I  can  take  no  action,  play  no  play; 
All  my  wit  falters  when  I  hear  you  speak, 
All   my  wise   guile   with  which  your  wooing 

strove 
Vanishes  as  the  sun  of  yesterday. 

I  can  but  lay  my  cheek  against  your  cheek — 
Love  me  or  leave  me,  I  can  only  love. 


[23] 


XXII 
To  a    Woman 

Take  all  of  me,  pour  out  my  life  as  wine, 

To  dye  your  soul's  sweet  shallows.     Violent  sin 
"Blazed  me  a  path,  and  I  have  walked  therein, 

Strong,   unashamed.    Your  timorous  hands  need 
mine, 

As  the  white  stars  their  sky,  your  lips'  pale  line 
Shall  blush  to  roses  where  my  lips  have  been. 
I  ask  no  more.     I  do  not  hope  to  win — 

Only  to  add  myself  to  your  design. 

Take  all  of  me.  I  know  your  little  lies, 
Your  light  dishonor,  gentle  treacheries. 

I  know,  I  lie  in  torment  at  your  feet, 
Shadow  to  all  your  sun.  Take  me  and  go, 

Use  my  adoring  to  your  honor,  sweet, 
Strength  for  your  weakness — it  is  better  so. 


[24] 


XXIII 
Aspiration 


The  pale  and  misty  particles  of  Time 
Hover  about  as;  scarce  oar  eyes  can  see 
Youth's  far-off  dream  of  what  we  were  to  be. 

Life's  truth,   which  once  we  would  redeem  with 
rhyme, 

Has  proved  instead  a  world-worn  pantomime* 
The  running  river  of  expediency 
Has  drowned  the  hopes  that  Fortune  held  in  fee — 

Why  fall  upon  the  track  so  many  climb? 

Why  strive  to  speak  what  all  the  earth  has  heard  ? 
Why  labor  at  a  work  the  ages  plan? — 

Life  has  been  lived  so  oft — an  outworn  thing! 
Then  hark!  the  time-sweet  carol  of  a  bird. 

New  as  a  flower;   and  see — ah,  shame  to  man! 
The  endless  aspiration  of  the  Spring* 
[25] 


XXIV 
Aspiration 

II 

The  full  throat  of  the  world  is  charged  with  song, 
Morning  and  twilight  melt  with  ecstasy 
In  the  high  heat  of  noon.     Simply  to  be, 

Palpitant  where  the  green  spring  forces  throng, 

Eager  for  life,  life  unashamed  and  strong — 
This  is  desire  fulfilled.     Exalted,  free, 
The  spirit  gains  her  ether,  scornfully 

Denies  existence  that  is  dark  or  wrong. 

This  is  enough,  to  see  the  song  begun 

Which  shall  be  finished  in  some  field  afar. 
Laugh  that  the  night  may  still  contain  a  star, 
Nor  idly  moan  your  impotence  of  grace. 
Life  is  a  song,  lift  up  your  care-free  face 

Gladly  and  gratefully  toward  the  sun. 

[26] 


XXV 
The  Gypsy  Blood 

He  gives  me  happiness,  as  flowers  depend 
On  loyal  sun  and  shower.     I  look  to  love 
To  give  me  life.    "Why  is  it  not  enough? 

Divine  contentment,  stretching  without  end 

O'er  happy  meadows.     He's  my  love,  my  friend, 
And  peace  is  in  the  word*    You  —  heart's  de 
spair — 
Sweep  like  a  tempest  through  my  stmsweet  air, 

Wail  like  a  lost  soul  through  my  blossomed  grove. 

Tempest  and  calm,  with  him  my  heart  might  rest, 
Lulled  by  eternal  spring.     The  dream  is  blest, 

Yet  the  wild  grapes  you  crush  make  life  divine. 
Out  in  the  pathless  dark,  all  yours,  I  go, 

Brave  with  the  purple  promise  of  the  wine. 
You,  you  I  love,  because  you  bring  me  woe. 


[27] 


XXVI 
Not  Dead  but  Sleeping 

And  if  I  came,  ah,  if  I  came  again, 

And  laid  my  hand  on  your  forgetful  heart, 
Where  once  it  lay  so  warm,  could  the  pulse  start, 

Remembering  Spring  ?     Now,  at  the  sound  of  rain, 

I  do  but  turn  a  little  in  disdain 

To  see  the  flowers  renew  their  lovely  part, 
Blooming  afresh.     For  memory  holds  no  smart, 

Love  aches  no  more  to  know  how  it  was  slain. 

Yet  if  I  came  to  you  who  heed  no  more 
My  name  upon  the  wind?     Love's  ghost,  lean 

near, 
I  have  a  word  that  only  you  may  hear. 

If  you  should  come  to  me  with  dear  desire, 
My  soul's  dry  staff  should  tremble  to  its  core 

And  flame  against  your  touch  in  buds  of  fire. 

[28] 


XXVII 
The  Last  Gift 

What  shall  I  give  to  her  who  will  not  care 
If  I  give  soul  or  roses,  will  not  know 
How  that,  for  sweets  she'll  spend,  light  smiles 
she'll  sow, 

I  will  reap  bitter  tears?    If  she  could  wear 

Those  tears  as  stars  to  sparkle  in  her  hair! 
What  shall  I  give  ?     I  have  not  f  atl'n  so  low 
I  may  not  lay  one  gift  before  I  go 

Upon  the  altar  of  my  heart's  despair. 

She  will  not  know;  yet,  in  my  love  a  king, 

I  must  be  worthy  of  my  crown  and  throne, 
And  so  can  sacrifice  no  little  thing* 

My  life,  my  soul  are  worthless  since  her  scorn. 
Slay  we  then  love  on  love's  red  altar-stone — 
Beggared  of  all,  I  face  the  world  forlorn. 


[29] 


XXVIII 
Amor  Mysticus 

Not  you,  nor  all  the  gauds  that  Fate  bestows, 
Can  make  me  swerve  so  little  from  my  dream. 
Across  my  veil  of  mystery  you  seem 

Perhaps  a  little  dearer  than  the  rose, 

Perhaps  more  fair  than  the  long  light  that  flows 
Between  the  lids  of  twilight.     But  the  gleam 
Of  iris  on  the  breast  of  wisdom's  stream 

Is  of  a  radiance  that  no  rival  knows. 

My  heart  is  not  my  heart,  or  it  might  chance 

To  sorrow  for  the  sorrow  in  your  tears  ; 
My  soul  is  locked  against  all  circumstance 

Of  life  or  love  or  death  or  heaven  or  hell ; 
I  have  no  place  for  laughter  in  my  years, 
No  room  where  little,  little  love  might  dwell. 


[30] 


XXIX 
The   Pattern  of  the  Earth 

The  pattern  of  the  earth,  so  wonderful. 
Is,  more  than  myrtle,  very  dear  to  me. 
Across  the  avenue  of  limes  I  see 

A  little  mist  by  ghosts  made  magical, 

Tossing  across  the  hills,  more  beautiful 
Than  the  deep  eyes  of  amber  women,  free 
Of  shame  and  of  disdain,  on  some  far  sea 

Swept  by  trade-winds  the  sun  makes  lyrical. 

There  is  no  air  the  mind  may  not  recall, 
Blown  from  the  violet-beds  of  Greece  ;  and  all 

The  moons  who  drop  their  shattered  petals  here 
Live  from  the  days  which  hid  Semiramis, 

Breezes  upon  my  lips  are  subtly  dear, 
Because  they  bear  the  burden  of  her  kiss. 


[31] 


XXX 

Disguised 

The  beggar  thoughts  pass  down  the  lanes  of  day, 
And  on  the  thorns  that  are  the  hours  I  find 
Their  tatters  and  their  rags.     Infirm  and  blind, 

They  faded  in  the  void,  and  all  the  way 

Mouthed  senseless  jeers  at  me*     I  dared  not  pray 
For  wisdom  from   these  fools  who   throng   the 

mind 
And  leave  no  gifts  but  bitterness  behind. 

Chin  upon  hand,  I  watched,  nor  bade  them  stay. 

Then  wearily  and  indolently  glanced 

Where    the    thorns    fluttered    with    their    flags, 

and,  lo, 
Fragments  of  cloth  of  silver  gleamed  and  danced 

In  the  late  sun,  and  linen  white  as  snow 
Among  the  beggar  thoughts,  with  lowered  eyes, 
Princes  and  kings  had  wandered  in  disguise. 

[32] 


SONGS 


On  the  White  Road 

There's  a  white,  white  road  lies  under  the  swing 
ing  moon, 

Stretched  from  the  black  of  the  deep  to  the 
black  of  the  deep, 

And  midway  the  graveyard  lies,  with  its  leaves 

a-croon, 

i 

The  only  sound  of  the  world,  like  a  dream  in 
sleep. 

There's  a  white,  white  grave  lies  under  the  grave 
yard  trees, 

Hung  on  the  road  as  a  single  pearl  on  a  thread, 
And  silence  waits,  beast  crouched,  on  the  rim  of 

the  breeze, 

That  moans  where  the   only  man  in  the  world 
lies  dead. 


[35] 


II 

The   Wanderer 

Have  I  finished  my  life,  am  I  done? 

Is  my  heart-blood  thin  and  cold, 
That  I  gnaw  the  bones  of  the  town? 

Am  I  empty  and  old? 

My  flags  are  the  chimneys'  grime, 
Tossed  on  a  languid  breeze. 

Have  I  dreamed  of  the  roaring  rhyme, 
A  storm  through  the  trees  ? 

The  snow  in  the  streets  is  black, 
Profaned  with  the  city's  sin; 

I  know  of  a  star-lit  track 
Where  God's  hand  has  been. 

Have  I  finished  with  snow  and  sun, 
With  the  wind  on  the  open  plain, 

That  I  starve  in  the  barren  town — 
Is  my  life  in  vain? 
[36] 


Ill 

False 

The  black  sky  stretches  to  the  pallid  sea, 
As  a  false  love  and  a  dismantled  heart. 
Empty  of  faith  and  eager  to  depart. 

He  takes  her  yet  once  more,  submissively, 
Against  his  lips,  then,  laughing,  drifts  away 
Swiftly  within  the  dawning  of  the  day. 

Blindly  she  tosses  up  her  foam-white  hands, 
Crying  for  mercy,  and  the  wind — her  hair — 
Lashes  the  wide-sailed   ships   and  leaves   them 
bare. 

Blindly  she  hurls  her  rage  against  the  sands. 
There,  in  the  cold  sky  where  her  love  had  lain 
Scornful,  aloof,  the  sun  reviews  her  pain. 


[37] 


IV 
A  Song  of  the  Oregon    Trail 

How  long  the  trail  1     How  far  the  goal! 

Last  year  the  moons  might  come  and  go 

Like  dancing  shadows  on  the  snow. 

My  heart  was  light,  my  heart  was  strong; 

I  cared  not  though  the  way  be  long; 
But  now — the  end  is  you — my  soul! — 

I  fear  the  dark,  I  fear  the  dread 
White  frost  that  hovers  round  my  heart, 
The  cold,  high  sun,  and,  wide  apart, 
The  frozen,  pitiless  stars  above. 
So  far,  so  far  from  my  true  love, 

And,  oh!  I  fear,  I  fear  the  dead! 

I  fear  their  fingers,  grasping  and  pale. 
I  did  not  fear  the  dead  last  year — 
But  now,  the  kisses  of  my  dear! 
The  breast  of  her,  so  kind  and  warm, 
Ah,  heart!    I  must  not  come  to  harm — 

How  far  the  goal!    How  long  the  trail! 
[38] 


V 

The  Apple-Tree 

The  apple-tree  is  white  with  snow, 
My  heart  is  empty  as  the  day; 

The  white  hours  indolently  go 

Graveward,  because  my  love's  away. 

Months  lag,  then  spring  and  love's  return- 
Yet  once  again  I  seem  to  see, 

Flushed  with  delight,  as  kisses  burn, 
White  snow  upon  the  apple-tree. 


[39] 


VI 
Silver  and  Rose 

Pale  as  a  petulant  star. 

She  held  up  her  face  to  his  love; 
Her  spirit  from  his  dwelt  afar 

As  the  sky  from  the  sea  is  above* 

Yet  he  gazed  till  her  whiteness  was  rose, 
Dawn  bright  with  the  morning  above — 

As  the  sea  from  the  sky  wakes  and  glows, 
So  his  image  was  mirrored  in  love. 


[40] 


VII 
To-Morrow 

To-morrow  and  to  morrow — shall  there  be 
Perchance  a  morrow  when  I  may  not  see 
Your  face  beside  me  any  more  ?    Ah,  no ! 
My  love,  my  love,  I  cannot  let  you  go* 
Like  sim  in  Egypt,  ever  kind  and  fair, 
My  heart  must  wake  at  dawn  and  know  you 

there- 
No  dread  of  day  which  holds  a  weeping  rain, 
No  dread  of  chilly  love  and  bitter  pain, 
But  ever  present,  ever  wise  and  true, 
To-morrow  and  to-morrow  holding  you* 


VIII 
The  Greater  Joy 

Not  that  young  Joy  who  looked  with  laughing  eyes, 
That  jocund  sprite  with  open,  idle  fingers 
Stretched  to  the   dawn,   the   dawn  whose  gold 
light  lingers 

Across  the  far  blue  hills  of  Paradise. 

Not  that  young  Joy,  but  one  courageous,  calm, 
Who — passed  beyond  the  quiet  morning  meadows 
Beyond  the  dawn  of  life's  delicious  shadows — 

Holds  the  great  sun  and  moon  in  either  palm* 

In  her  wise  heart  she  takes  that  little  Joy, 
Kisses  to  sleep  tired  eyes  with  laughter  over, 
Pointing  to  greater  joys  in  heights  above  her — 

This  shall  be  ours  whom  fate  would  fain  destroy. 


[42] 


IX 
The  Rose-Colored  Camelia-Tree 

Stained  by  the  ardent  silver  of  the  stars, 
Glitter  the  leaves,  a  challenge  to  the  day — 

The  bright,  fierce  flame  of  naked  scimitars 
Holds  still  the  argent  night,  folded  away. 

Challenging  day,  yet,  lovelier  than  light, 

Blushing  with  dawn  the  flick'ring  leaves  between, 

Burn  the  rose  blossoms,  traitors  to  the  night — 
Color  of  joy  upon  the  tranquil  green. 

Brave  to  the  amorous  sun,  who,  fearing,  grieves, 
At   last    the    tree's    whole    heart    with    love    is 
crowned — 

The  rose-red  flowers  warm  against  the  leaves, 
The  rose-red  petals  sweet  against  the  ground. 


[43] 


Good-Bye  Sorrow 

Day  that  began  with  a  tear, 
"Will  you  end  with  a  sigh? 

Stay!     See  the  blossoming  year, 
Laugh  up  to  the  sky. 

Nay,  here's  a  hope  for  your  fear, 
Sweet  sorrow — good-bye  ! 


[44] 


XI 
In  Harbor 

My  little  boat  is  in  a  bay. 
It  swings  with  gentle  motion, 

And  there  I  lie  and  watch  all  day 
The  far-off,  noisy  ocean. 

The  ships  go  tip,  the  ships  go  down, 
And  never  see  me  spying* 

They  are  the  pride  and  fear  of  town- 
Sails  wide  and  colors  flying. 

They  are  so  strong,  they  are  so  tall, 
They  fear  no  storm,  no  sorrow; 

"With  brave  eyes  to  the  stm,  they  all 
Set  sail  for  some  to-morrow. 

Sometimes  I  long  to  range  and  roam, 

My  harbor  life  bewailing, 
But  little  boats  must  bide  at  home, 

To  gayly  speed  the  sailing. 
[45] 


XII 

Rosa  Mundi 

O  life  that  flowered  at  the  very  top  of  the  tree, 
Redder  than  all  the  roses  out  of  the  South, 

This  was  the  blossom  colored  and  wrought  for  me, 
Sweeter  than  scarlet  bloom  of  a  maiden's  mouth. 

Fain  would  I  climb,  and  fain  would  I  reach  the 

flower. 

Ah,  but  the  tree  was  tall  as  the  flower  was  fair ! 
Weary   I   grew   and   slept   through   the   noonday 

hour; 

Winds  caught  my  fate  and  strewed  it  over  the 
air. 


[46] 


XIII 
The  Ribbon 

Ah,  dearest,  dearest,  not  alone 

I  face  the  day's  white  monotone. 

The  fair,  bright  ribbon  of  the  hoars — 

A  mountain  brook  bestead  through  flowers — 

Runs,  a  dear  line,  from  you  to  you. 

There  is  no  smallest  deed  I  do 

Through  which  the  ribbon  does  not  run, 

A  silver  string  to  pearls  of  sun. 

So  glad  I  watch  the  moments  fly 

Across  the  high-hung  summer  sky, 

Till  in  a  radiant  flame  they  burn, 

To  mark  the  hour  of  your  return. 


[47] 


XIV 
The  Aster 

The  little  vagrant  gypsy  flower 
Has  blossomed  forth  again — 

Your  face  against  the  autumn  sky, 
Your  face  against  the  rain* 

The  fevered  youth  of  summer  days 
Has  passed  away  in  tears. 

The  aged  winter  totters  down 
The  pathway  of  the  years. 

Yet,  nodding,  luring,  laughing  o'er 
The  tired  world's  pain  and  scars, 

Joyous  I  find  between  my  hands 
Your  face — in  aster  stars. 


[48] 


XV 
Heart  and  Hand 

Singing,  he  smote  his  heart — 

The  woman  smiled. 
And  Love  leaped,  flaming, 

Into  being — wild. 

Singing,  he  smote  his  hands — 

The  woman  sighed, 
And  Love  grew  weary, 

Turned  his  face,  and  died. 


[49] 


XVI 
The  Golden  Fruit 

I  lacked  not  Love,  I  lacked  not  lovely  Love, 

But,  ah,  the  apples  of  Hesperides! 

The  golden  apples  and  the  emerald  trees, 

The  flower-sweet  maidens,  dancing  in  the  breeze — 

Holds  Love  a  blossom  with  such  fruits  as  these  ? 

I  gave  up  Love,  I  gave  tip  lovely  Love, 
And  sought  the  island  of  enchanted  skies, 
With  little  rainbow  rifts  of  seraphs'  eyes, 
Round  which  the  flaming  sword  forever  plies 
Against  the  darkened  world  of  rue  and  sighs. 

Alas  for  Love!  alas  for  lovely  Love! 
In  dreams  I  heard  the  beating  of  his  wing; 
His  soft  voice,  beautiful  as  sea  in  spring, 
Mourned    through   the    empty   songs  the    seraphs 

sing; 

Life  seemed  in  sleep  more  dear  than  everything, 
[50] 


Take  me  back,  Love ;  take  me  back,  lovely  Love. 
Dark  winds  may  drive  me  o'er  thy  tyrannous  seas — 
Life  is  a  world  that  breaks  the  thing  it  frees, 
I  would  be  bound  in  all  thy  masteries — 
Yet,  ah,  the  apples  of  Hesperides! 


[Si] 


XVII 
To  a  Moth 

Spirit  of  evil,  heavily  flying,  turning, 

Dropping  to  earth, 

Caught  to  the  light,  with  brown  wings  torn  and 
burning, 

Whence  was  your  birth  ? 

Was  there  a  cause  that,  ceaselessly  turning,  flying, 

Drew  you  from  night  ? 
All  that  we  know  is  this — the  aimless  dying, 

Killed  by  the  light. 

Evil  the  star  that  led  you,  spirit  of  evil, 

Out  of  your  dark, 
Breeding  desire  that  conquers  us,  man  and  devil — 

Passion's  red  spark. 


XVIII 
Winter  Song 

Oh,  it's  winter,  winter,  when  you're  here, 
And  summer  when  you're  gone. 

What  need  of  birds  when  hearts  sing  clear, 
From  dusk  of  day  to  dawn? 

The  noble  wind,  the  silver  snow, 

High  stars,  and,  best  of  all, 
The  red-rose  hearth — a  golden  glow 

When  twilight  curtains  fall. 

Who'd  cry  the  heat  of  summer  skies, 

The  bare,  despairing  sun, 
The  languid  flowers,  with  closing  eyes, 

The  earth's  fair  wooing  done? 

The  possibilities  of  spring, 

The  reticence  of  bliss, 
Love  with  the  winter's  argent  wing, 

We'll  scorn  the  sun  for  this. 

[53] 


XIX 
Youth 

Youth  and  its  pensive  agonies!    How  soon 
The  restless  heart  forgets  to  crave  the  moon! 
Age  is  too  weary  for  the  butterflies — 
Spring's  rainbow  radiance  fluttering  through  sweet 

skies, 

Hope  merrily  deferred.     We  see  the  morn, 
We  who  are  old,  in  shattered  fragments.    Scorn 
For  laughter  and  for  singing  clouds  our  breast. 
Youth,  take  your  fill  of  pleasure,  for  the  rest 
Of  Age  is  endless.     Sing,  nor  grudge  the  song — 
Youth  is  so  short,  and  Age,  quiet  Age,  so  long! 


[54] 


XX 

Persephone 

Persephone,  Persephone — her  sweet  face  wanders 

up  to  me. 

Through  this  bewildering  maze  of  spring. 
At  length  she  daunts  the  tyrannous  year, 
Her  little  laugh  usurps  the  tear, 
Her  little  song  she  dares  to  fling 
Against  the  black  stars,  merrily. 

Persephone,  Persephone — her  hands  lean  through 

the  spring  to  me. 

Sweet,  could  I  show  you  in  what  wise 
Your  song  has  blossomed — how  the  air 
Is  mad  with  gold  because  your  hair, 
Tossed  golden  'neath  your  sea-blue  eyes, 
And  earth  goes  laughing  with  your  glee  ? 

Persephone,  Persephone,  this  hour  sends  out  your 

heart  to  me. 
Child  of  the  Dark,  with  soul  sun-bright, 

[55] 


Ah,  give  me  largesse,  give  me  May, 
So  shall  I  charm  the  saddest  day, 
And  life — one  amber  dawn's  delight — 
Shall  bear  your  song  eternally. 


[56] 


XXI 

Etoiles  d'Enfer 

The  four  wide  winds  of  evening  have  their  stars, 
Fashioned  in  fire,  in  purity  of  snowt 

Tossed  to  their  height  by  endless  avatars — 
These  all  the  righteous  know. 

What  of  the  stars  of  Hades  ?    On  the  gloom 
The  outcast  see  them  shine  like  angels'  eyes, 

And  in  the  living  night  that  is  their  tomb 
They  dream  of  Paradise. 

They  know  the  stars  of  Hades.    They  are  deeds, 
"Wickedly  born,  which  came  to  good  at  last — 

Fair  blossoms  spring  from  villany  of  weeds, 
Rest — and  redeem  the  past. 


[57] 


XXII 
Enough  of  Singing 

Enough  of  singing;  since  your  heart  is  tired, 
We'll  leave  the  lute,  so  long,  so  long  desired, 
And  in  the  silence  speak  one  quiet  word, 
Simple  as  earth,  forgetting  song  and  bird. 

No  more  of  singing;  mating-time  has  sped, 
In  the  broad  fields  the  poppy-lips  are  red. 
Crush  them,  Beloved,  drink  the  lethe  deep; 
Song  being  dead,  what  else  is  left  but  sleep  ? 


[58] 


XXIII 
Truth 

Up  from  the  soul,  as  a  blade  of  grass  from  the  sod, 
Springs  the  intent  of  the  prayer  as  a  cry  to  God. 
Blossoms  may  veil  it  or  visions  with  ways  uncouth, 
He  sees  the  ultimate  grass-blade,  the  heart  of  Truth* 


XXIV 
The   Philosopher 

The  grim  immensities  are  mine, 

The  sunlight  on  the  brook  is  theirs; 

I  drink  the  lees  of  bitter  wine, 

Fate  grants  a  gift  to  all  their  prayers* 

I  stammer,  all  afire  to  tell 

The  thoughts  that  urge  for  life  like  pain  ; 
For  them  words  brim  the  shallow  well 

Like  easy  drops  of  summer  rain. 

And  which,  ah,  Heaven,  which  is  best — 

The  little  lute  for  every  mood, 
Or,  shrinking  coldly  from  life's  test, 

The  heights  and  depths  of  solitude  ? 


[60] 


XXV 
Prayers 

Prayers  that  were  birds  winging  wide, 
Daring  the  flame  of  the  sun, 

How  have  you  faltered  and  died, 
Now  the  day's  done! 

Prayers  must  be  brave  for  the  dark, 
Strong  for  the  chill  of  the  star, 

Fearing  no  fate  to  embark 
Over  the  bar. 

Prayers  of  the  sun  and  the  moon, 
Prayers  for  the  sky  and  the  nest, 

All  must  reach  haven  so  soon — 
Which  shall  reach  rest  ? 


[61] 


XXVI 
A  South-Sea  Lover  Scorned 

When  the  red  coral  of  your  lip  is  pale 

As  the   bleached   sea-sand,  ah,  wearily,  wear 
ily, 

Will  you  behold  your  face,  your  fingers  frail, 
Gnarled  like  a  wind-blown  tree ;  your  star-bright 

eyes 

Blind  as  a  cloudy  midnight  without  moon. 
No  more  fair  necklaces  nor  scarlet  dyes 
Can  make  you  cruel  to  men,  for  soon,  so  soon, 
Your   heart   will   bear   the   years — ah,   wearily, 
wearily. 


Then  I,  your  scorn,  shall  still  be  man  and  chief; 
Turning  to  free  your  hands  so  carelessly,  care 
lessly, 

You  will  be  dead  to  love  past  all  belief. 
Still  round  the  slender  columns  of  the  palm 
[62] 


The  moon  shall  lie  in  shivering,  silver  pools, 
Still  shall  the  trades  lash  through  the  summer 

calm 

While  twilight  with  her  smile  the  island  cools 
And    Time    forgets    your    presence,    carelessly, 
carelessly. 


[63! 


XXVII 
In  May 

Blithe  Nature  leaned  to  kiss  her  favorite  child, 
Her  sunshine  hair  about  her  bosom  swirled; 

Gay  Baby  Spring  held  out  his  hands,  he  smiled, 
And  Apple-Blossoms  dimpled  on  the  world. 


[64] 


XXVIII 
For   Your  Sake 

Bid  me  for  your  sakct 

Not  for  self  or  right — 
You  alone  can  wake 

Power  to  gain  the  fight* 

In  your  name  I'd  dare 

Aught  in  earth's  great  bounds  ; 
Forth  my  sins  should  fare. 

Leashed  like  cringing  hounds. 

When  you  touch  my  hand, 
Through  your  holy  eyes 

I  can  see  the  land 
Where  is  Paradise. 

Yet  I  may  not  go, 
Leaving  cold  and  night, 

Till  your  soul  of  snow 
Sees  that  mine  is  white. 
[65] 


Let  my  heart  not  break 

Till  I  kill  my  sin  ; 
Bid  me  for  your  sake 

Fight  the  world — and  win! 


[66] 


XXIX 

« 

Lyric  Love 

The  world  deserves  its  wisdom.    You  and  I, 
Serene  within  the  shadow,  crowned  with  hours, 

Gnctured  with  solitude,  the  bended  sky 
Folds  us  in  hues  of  tulip  twilight  flowers. 

Knowledge  is  chill  ;  your  hair  is  warm  with  gold, 
A  lock  lies  heavily  across  your  cheek. 

I  somewhere  heard  of  darkness,  pain,  and  cold — 
Keep  your  own,  world.  Ah,  Love,  stir  not  nor 
speak. 


[67] 


XXX 
Be  Still 

Be  still,  be  still,  vex  not  the  night  with  sound, 
The  moon  has  laid  her  finger  on  the  lake, 

And  in  the  shadows  of  the  wood  profound 

There  lies  a  peace  we  would  profane  to  break. 

Upon  the  lonely  avenue  of  trees, 
As  pearls  upon  an  airy  silver  string, 

Are  caught  the  threaded  echoes  of  the  breeze 
That  sets  the  ruffled  leaves  a-murmuring. 

Be   still,   dear   heart,   as   though  'twere   death  to 
speak. 

Love  waits  you,  lily-like,  with  leaves  unfurled, 
While  on  the  breast  of  day  night  lays  her  cheek, 

The  silence  speaks  the  secret  of  the  world. 


[68] 


XXXI 

Butterfly    Words 

Butterfly  words  from  the  sun  in  my  brain, 
Flitting  and  darting  and  flitting  again, 

Gleaming  of  golden  and  violet  and  rose, 
What  is  the  rainbow  you  spring  from,  and  where  ? 

Butterflies  daintily  poise  and  disclose, 
Whence  is  this  secret  of  color  you  bear? 

Stm  that  is  ruddy  and  fragrant  with  flowers, 
Garnered  and  hid  from  these  desolate  hours, 

Misty  with  beauty,  the  silver  of  spring — 
Ah,  for  the  ways  that  are  lost  to  my  feet ! 

Only  the  dip  of  the  butterfly  wing, 
Poised  for  a  moment,  revives  me  the  sweet. 


69] 


XXXII 
Music 

Music  has  opened  her  hands, 
Through  fingers  her  jewels  are  falling, 
Fingers  so  delicate  slender, 
Pale  as  the  ghost  of  a  flower. 

Jewels  of  crimson,  the  life 
Ebbing  from  hearts  that  are  broken, 
Roses  and  wine  and  red  sunsets, 
Flames  of  undying  desire. 

Jewels  of  azure,  the  sea 
Dreaming  of  stars,  and  the  morning 
Dancing  with  life,  then  the  silence 
Blue  of  mysterious  caves. 

Jewels  of  green,  and  the  grass 
Lifts  up  its  hands  to  the  summer, 
Hiding  insidious  serpents, 
Fair  as  the  sweets  that  are  sin. 
[70] 


Jewels  more  bright  than  the  stm 
Music  lets  fall  from  her  fingers. 
We  who  have  stood  in  the  shadow- 
How  may  we  die  for  her  sake? 


[71] 


XXXIII 
The  Ghost 


You  came  and  you  went,  and  I  swept  you  aside, 
not  a  trace 

Does  my  wisdom  endure  of  your  words  and  your 

beautiful  face 
And  the  curls  of  your  hair; 

Yet  your  presence,  a  song,  murmurs  ever  in  hope 
less  refrain, 

And  I  wake   in   the   night  with   my  empty  hands 

yearning  in  vain 
For  the  touch  of  your  hair. 


You  went,  and  I  triumphed — I  crushed  out  my 

heart  with  a  kiss 
On    the    lips    that    are    ashen,  forgetting  spring's 

wonderful  bliss 
And  your  tremulous  lips; 
[72] 


Yet  the  kisses  were  ghostly  with   jasmine,  dear 

jasmine  of  May — 
The  new  has  the  soul  of  the  old,  is  aflame  with 

the  way 
And  the  touch  of  your  lips. 

You  came  and  you  went,  and  the  world  wearies  on 

with  its  game* 
My  heart  never  falters  or  fears  at  the  sound  of 

your  name 

Or  the  sight  of  your  face; 
Yet  the  ghost  of  our  passion  stands  white  in  the 

midst  of  my  heart, 
"With  your  hands   and   your  hair,  and  I  know  it 

will  never  depart 
Passion's  ghost  with  your  face! 


[73] 


XXXIV 
Fight! 

Fight,  though  the  bulwarks  of  your  faith  may  fall, 
Life  become  gray  and  full  of  weariness, 
Love  prove  a  lie  and  wisdom  bitterness — 

Fight,  for  the  strife  alone  avails  for  all. 

Fight  and  fight  on,  exulting  in  the  light, 
Standing  alert  and  upright  gleefully, 
Seizing  life's  joys  and  woes  courageously, 

Man  to  the  end,  and  master — laugh  and  fight. 


[74] 


XXXV 
In   Tonga 

The  windy  rain  beats,  beats  about  my  door — 

Alas  for  love  when  love  goes  wandering  ! 
The  dawn  mist  rises  on  the  forest  floor — 

Alas  for  life  when  love  goes  wandering  ! 
With  wet,  green  leaves  the   palm-trees  lash  the 

night, 
The  pitiless  trades  drive  wild  gods  in  their  flight. 

And,   ah,   my   lover !     Moons    have   come   and 
gone, 

The  fighting  ended,  still  he  lingers  on. 
Sleepless  I  hear  the  demon  wind  above — 

Alas  for  love  when  love  goes  wandering  ! 
And  I  must  wed  with  one  I  do  not  love — 

Alas  for  life  when  love  goes  wandering  ! 


[751 


XXXVI 
This  cwas  the  Song 

We  have  forgotten.    This  the  rowers  knew, 
Straining  within  the  galleys'  reeling  night. 
Life    bent    to    breaking,   while    their    great    souls 

grew 
Strong  in  the  ancient  purposes  of  Time. 

This  was    the   song  whereby  they   made   their 

fight, 

Laughed  as  they  swung.     Gods  1  how  the  cord  bit 
through  ! 

This  was  the  song  the  pagan  lovers  heard, 
Wakened  by  flowers  in  a  rose-red  dawn. 
Through    the    bright    dew   they    fled,   like    ocean 

stirred 

With  morning.     Bare  and  beautiful  they  ran, 
Holding    each    other's    hand.     Through    leaves 

they're  gone, 

Cleaving  the  silver  pool  with  flash  of  bird. 
[76] 


Carven  in  stone,  Abydos  holds  it  fast — 
The  little  Eastern  dancer  with  her  lute, 

Wild  Erin's  faeries  crying  for  the  past* 

They  keep  the  deathless  secret  of  the  word 
Hid  behind  Nature's  lips,  who,  grave,  remote, 

Guard  this  from  profanation  till  the  last. 

Not  unto  us  who  bide  the  ebb  and  flow, 
The  senseless  order  of  the  tide  of  law. 

We  have  forgotten  to  be  free  ;  we  know 

Only  the  iteration  of  the  day. 

The  priceless  moon,  white  pearl  without  a  flaw, 

Drowns  in  the  muddy  stream  of  worldly  woe. 

We  take  the  petty  part  and  leave  the  whole. 

Lost  to  our  ken  the  song  of  Nature's  youth — 
The  great  barbaric  winds  that  sweep  the  soul 

And  leave  it  emptied  of  all  else  but  truth. 


[77] 


XXXVII 

To  E.  D. 

She  wrought  her  songs  in  secret  ways. 
Yet  cared  not  where  they  fell  ; 

Her  soul  distilled  itself  like  dews 
In  rue  and  asphodel. 

They  fell  in  countless  happy  hearts, 
Made  wise  by  sun  and  showers, 

Like  pollen  blown  about  the  earth, 
Conceiving  royal  flowers. 


[78] 


XXXVIII 
The  Dance 

Like  little,  eager  children 

The  tiptoe  tulips  stand. 
Row  upon  row  of  dancing  heads 

In  joyous  saraband. 

"With  lithe,  long  emerald  petticoats, 
And  happy  hands  tossed  up, 

The  sunshine  is  the  laughter 
That  brims  their  golden  cup. 


[79] 


XXXIX 

Vanquished 

Heart,  here  are  roses  burning  with  the  South — 
("  Fairer  was  her  false  mouth  ") — 

Close  your  tired  eyes,  the  twilight  gives  you  rest — 

("  Cool  was  her  snowy  breast "). 

Take  of  the  sunshine,  nor  remember  rain — 
("  Love  is  a  cruel  pain  ") — 

Hush!  you  shall  sleep  forgetting  love's  alarms — 

("  Sleep  died  in  her  false  arms  "). 


[80] 


XL 
Tranquillity 

Do  you  respect  the  heavy-lidded  flowers 
That  nod  so  drowsily  upon  their  bed  ? 

Can  you  endure  the  slow-stepped,  dreamy  hours 
That  fall,  indifferent,  to  gold  and  red  ? 

Have  you  the  key  that  opens  to  green  arches 
Where  trees  repeat  their  prayers  in  monotone  ? 

Then  take  my  hand  down  life's  mysterious  marches, 
And  let  us  walk  in  silence  and  alone* 


[81] 


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